


a lantern swinging by

by Kt_fairy



Series: The brighter sun and the easier lays [5]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Day drinking, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, declarations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: “Did you fancy me back then?”“How could I not?” John said with so much sincerity it made Roger blush.“I thought you were pretty for a bloke," he grinned. "Nice arse too.”“Nothing’s changed there, then.”“Hey, no!” Roger gave John’s knee a squeeze, leaning over to kiss him gently. “NowI think you’re pretty outright. And Iknowyour arse is nice.”OrSoftness 1976 style





	a lantern swinging by

**Author's Note:**

> I will not be denied 70's Dealor. I WILL NOT. 
> 
> This takes place during the second half of 1976, around the time A Day at the Races came out, and just after chpt 3 of _brighter sun and the easier lays_. Which doesn't really have any bearing on this fic, but I wanted to give them some wholesomeness after continually putting them thru the wringer. 
> 
> And there's no smut! Can you believe it!

 

 **-1976**  

 

 

“Oops!”

 

“What?”

 

“That's _another_ bottle gone!”

 

“I wonder how that happened,” John giggled, tilting his chin up when Roger leant over to give him smacking kiss on the lips.

 

“I _wonder_ ,” Roger grinned, waggling his empty wine glass at him. “Another?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Why not indeed,” Roger murmured as he gave John another kiss. And then another for luck as he staggered to his feet to weave his way into the kitchen.

 

 _Their_ kitchen. Well, John's name was on the deed for the whole four story Victorian house, and most of his money had gone in to buying it (turns out having your song played constantly on American radio for three months really brings in the cash), but it was _theirs_. Their _home,_ which was full of their furniture and their stuff, and their wine that they were working their way through because...why the fuck not? 

 

 Roger considered the bottle of white wine in the fridge, and then turned to look at the collection of red’s left on the counter. Sweet white wine was a favourite of John’s as he had the palette of a eight year old girl, but red wine was sexy. Did Roger feel sexy? Sitting on the floor getting drunk and listening to music was a bit sexy, even if it was three in the afternoon.

 

 He was still pondering the mood he was in when the record ended and something that was very much not Fleetwood Mac was put on in its stead.

 

“Is that disco?” Roger yelled, abandoning the wine (and almost leaving the fridge door open) to go and investigate when John just laughed in reply.

 

 He skidded into the living room to find that John was indeed dancing around to the disco music that was thumping out of Roger's record player. He started to bob his head obnoxiously when he spotted Roger, a gleeful smile on his face. “Snooze ya lose. Where’s the wine?”

 

“No wine for music sneaks!”

 

John pouted dramatically, but didn’t stop dancing. “Try and take it off and I’ll evict you.”

 

 Roger set down his empty glass and crossed over to John. “You've got me,” he said, slipping his arm around John's waist as he stepped in close behind him. “Will have to do whatever you say now.”

 

 John shot Roger a coy look over his shoulder, and then burst out into drunken, hiccuping giggles that set Roger off as well. He staggered backwards and took John with him, and that just made them crack up all the more, soon getting to the stage where they had to lean on one another just to stay upright they were laughing so recklessly. 

 

 Sore ribs and an almost upended TV eventually calmed them down, John resting his hand on Roger's arm as they started to sway together. Roger smacked kisses to John's shoulder just because it was there, having to spit out a mouthful of John's hair when he tried to kiss his neck.

 

“What are you…” John started and then turned, holding up his wine glass so it wouldn't get knocked. He still had it held up after he took a sip, considering Roger for a moment before holding it out for him to awkwardly take a loud gulp.

 

“Disgusting,” John muttered even as he rested his hand on Roger’s hip, encouraging him to move to the beat as he started to dance again.

 

 Well, dancing was maybe being a little kind. Their movements were to the beat, but they certainly weren't up to John's usual standard. They stumbled around a little as they gave one another messy kisses, feet tangling together when they tried to avoid furniture or the slanting sunlight that kept on catching them in the face. John giggling while Roger talked nonsense as they somehow managed to finish the last few sips of John’s wine without throwing it all over the floor.

 

 The A side of the record ran out eventually. Not that either of them noticed. Their giggles had wound down to those lazy smiles that were only for one another, John’s thumb slipping under Roger’s t-shirt to stroke his hip as they moved around to that rhythm that was always swaying between them.

 

 

* ***** *

  

 The sheets were hot and Roger was sweaty. He held his hand out towards one of the fans pointing at the bed in the hopes of feeling some sort of breeze, but they were just blowing the thick, boiling air around the bedroom.   

 

 Roger rolled over in disgust, grimacing when the sheets stuck to his skin. He pulled his sweaty hair from under his head, finding momentary relief when the back of his neck met the relative coolness of the pillow.

 

 This heatwave was never going to end. This was it, Roger had accepted that sweat and suffering were just his life now. During the day the sun was relentless, the nights were stifling, and it had been four weeks since there had been even the suggestion of a cloud in the sky! You couldn't even wash the days heat off of your skin as water was now being rationed. Everyone was sticky and sweaty, and Roger didn’t even want to shag he felt so disgusting.

 

 And he was a drummer! He was used to being sweaty and hot and disgusting (and knew some very fun ways to get like that too), but he thought sex might just kill him. Besides, John was really not up for it. Just the other day he’d threatened to cut all his hair off with kitchen scissors he was feeling so suffocated by this heat.

 

 Roger flopped over in search of more cool, fresh sheets. He let his body heat permeate them before rolling over again, and again, and again until he hit the edge of the mattress. He lay still for a while, willing sleep to come as sweat pooled on his skin, before giving up with an impatient huff and tipping himself off the bed.

 

 The carpet was warm and prickly under his sweaty knees and Roger muttered curses to himself as reached out for what was left of his water. It was warm and the opposite of refreshing but Roger still drunk it down, managing to slop it down his chest when he pulled himself to his feet. He grabbed his cigarettes and lit one, taking an angry drag as he shuffled off into the en suite.

 

“Christ sake, Deaky,” he hissed when the pale feel sticking over the side of the tub made him jump. He muttered curses under his breath as he shuffled over to the sink, balancing the cigarette on the edge while he filled up his glass from the tap. It was so hot that even water from the cold tap was coming out lukewarm, but it was still a relief when Roger bent to splash it over his face and neck. He ran a hand full of water through his hair, sighing in when it trickled down his back to soak his pants.

 

 Roger lent his hip against the edge of the sink and took a good look at his exhausted face in the mirror. Maybe he and John should just make a break for Iceland. The whole band could relocate, Brian could really get into his medieval music thing and Freddie could revel in calling himself Queen of the Fairies.

 

 With a sigh Roger pinched out the cigarette, slipping it behind his ear as he went to crouch down by the bathtub. John had been getting even less sleep than Roger, and that, along with the heavy blanket of heat, was making John not only irritable but listless. His sparkle so diminished that Roger had summoned up the energy to get a bit worried about him.

 

 John still had bags under his eyes even as he slept, hair sticking to whatever bit of sweaty skin it touched. Roger reached out to pull a few strands off his face, freezing when John's shallow breathing changed for just a second before going back to normal.

 

 It didn't really look comfortable, being curled up in the bathtub like he was, and Roger suspected John would wake up with an awful crick in his neck. But he was sleeping, looking the most peaceful as he had for weeks, so Roger didn’t try and shift him. Instead, with a creak of knee’s old before their time, Roger stood to carefully open the squeaky bathroom window a little wider. There was little to no breeze, but he hoped it might help the thick air circulate around the room a little better and give them both some relief.

 

Instead of heading off downstairs Roger pulled the pillows off the bed and swiped his book from the bed side table, going to settle by the fans so he was close enough to keep an eye on John. He was young and healthy, and didn’t smoke like Roger, so he should be okay. It was just...The PSA’s about heat stroke that they had started to play after the news had scared him a little, and this was _John_ , okay. He’d fuss and worry around Roger too!

 

 Besides, if John wasn’t up in the next two hours Roger was going to turn the shower head on and get him right in the face.

 

 To help cool him down, of course.

 

 

* ***** * 

 

“You were supposed to be...Roger the car is going to be here any minute!”

 

“I’m only flying to fucking Edinburgh!”

 

“That doesn’t mean the plane will…”

 

“ _Where is my -_ oh here it is.”

 

“Do you want to take your coffee with you?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your coffee, do you want to take it with you?”

 

“Uhhh...no you drink it,” Roger spun in place, patting himself down before swearing. “Passport!” he declared, ducking into the living room to start digging around in the bureau for it.

 

“ _Roger…”_

 

“John! _You_ should have left to meet with Reid and Freddie... _five minutes ago_. And you don’t even have your shirt done up. ”

 

“ _You have a flight_ to catch!”

 

“Yeah, and the car’s not even here.”

 

“A passport is the first thing you sho…” John rolled his eyes when Roger strode back into the hallway brandishing his passport. He turned smartly on the balls of his feet, downing one of the mugs of coffee he was holding as he headed off towards the kitchen.

 

 Roger pushed his suitcase over to the front door, patting himself down to double-check he had everything as he took a despairing look at his hair in the mirror. He had gone to bed with it wet (they had been making the most of the heatwave finally breaking) and now it was a birds nest. Which at least it fit the rock star look, Roger thought as he shoved a hat on and hoped for the best.

 

“Have you had breakfast?” John yelled from the kitchen and Roger rolled his eyes.

 

“No mum! Barely had time to brush my teeth.”

 

 John appeared with an apple in hand, handing it to Roger so he could finally start to do up his shirt. “So you don’t get hungry and angry and yell at the airport staff.”

 

“I only did that once,” Roger pointed out as he freed John’s hair from his collar, running his fingers through it to neaten the waves just as the doorbell rang.

 

“Oh shit.”

 

“Okay. You definitely have your passport?”

 

“Top pocket.”

 

“Wonderful,” John pecked Roger on the lips, adjusting his jacket as he followed him to the door.

 

 Brian was on the other side, looking a lot less frazzled than Roger. “Did you just get up?”

 

“Good morning to you too, Brian,” Roger said as he shoved his suitcase into his hands.

 

“What am I? Your bell boy?” He muttered, and then his gaze fell on John who’s shirt was still half open. “Long goodbye was it?”

 

“What if it was?” John said airily, turning his attention back to Roger. “See you tonight,” he said, giving Roger’s wrist a squeeze. “Safe flight.”

 

“Same to you. Good luck with Freddie.”

 

“Thank’s. Bye Bri!”

 

“See you later, Deaky!” He yelled from the end of the path, waving at John before miming throwing Roger’s suitcase into the street.

 

“I know you wouldn’t. Don’t try it.”

 

“Yeah. Don’t want your knickers spread all over West London.”

 

“At least not these days anyway.”

 

Brian laughed, dumping Roger’s suitcase in the boot and letting the driver it shut for him as he climbed into the car.

 

Roger took one last look up at the house, blowing John an exaggerated kiss that he waved off as he slipped back inside.

 

“We’ll be flying up tomorrow morning if you don’t get in!” Brian said as he tugged on Roger’s jacket. “Come on! Not like you haven’t had the whole summer together.”

 

“You’re not very fucking romantic are you,” Roger muttered when he finally got in.

 

“You can cry on my shoulder all the way up there.”

 

Roger felt the apple in his pocket and was very tempted to chuck it at Brian. But John had given it to him, so instead he made a show of polishing it before taking a big, slurping bite out of it that made Brian’s nose crinkle.

 

 

 * ***** * 

 

 John dumped another box on the floor, kicking it closer to the filing cabinet that Roger was slowly filling up.

 

“Last one.”

 

“Shame. Was just starting to enjoy this.”

 

“It’s relaxing isn’t it?” John said as he dragged a chair over to Roger who grunted in reply, busy peering at a file as he tried to decide which draw it would go in.

 

 John had been unanimously elected by the band to keep an eye on all business and financial deals. As well as having the last say on any literature (written stuff like programmes and Vinyl sleeves) that Queen put out. It was a lot of responsibility, and they would all help where they could of course, but Roger knew that John was more than up to the task.

 

 They had turned one of their spare bedrooms into an office and were slowly filling it up with all the stuff the band had collected over the past five-ish years. Which was not as much as Roger had expected, to be honest, but he did like the look of all their gold and platinum disks lining the walls.

 

“I think it’s mostly press cuttings and receipts in this one.”

 

“Ohh God. A box of horrors! Burn it! _Burn it!_ ”

 

“Don’t tempt me,” John hauled the box up onto his lap, handing Roger a couple of manilla envelopes as he rifled through it. “Oh my god!”

 

“What? Is it a good review!”

 

“No,” John said, barely keeping a smile off his face. “Much, _much_ , better!”

 

He picked up a bent, faintly water stained, magazine that had the four of them, shirtless and ridiculously pouty, on the cover.

 

“Fuck,” Roger breathed.

 

“ _Look at us!”_

 

“Look at you! Deaky! Look at you!”

 

“I look like a right tart.”

 

“We look like we’re trying out for an orgy.”

 

“We do!” John looked at the cover again and laughed. “You and I are trying so hard...ha ha look at Brian!”

 

 Roger plucked the magazine from his hands to take a better look at it. He shook his head at himself and John giving their best attempt at being ethereal, snorting at Brian and Freddie who looked like they were trying to get on the front of Vogue.

 

“I can’t believe this was three years ago…” he shook his head. They hadn’t changed all that much really. His hair was now bottle blonde and not rapidly darkening strawberry, and John had got his somewhat unruly hair cut into a far sleeker style that framed his face like a Jackie cover model. “This was two years before we shagged.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Did _you_...did you fancy me back then?”

 

“How could I not?” John said with so much sincerity it made Roger blush.

 

“I thought you were pretty for a bloke," he grinned. "Nice arse too.”

 

“Nothing’s changed there, then.”

 

“Hey, no!” Roger gave John’s knee a squeeze, leaning over the box to kiss him gently. “ _Now_ I think you’re pretty outright. Prettiest thing in the world. And I _know_ your arse is nice.”

 

“Tosser.”

 

“That’s what you’re here for.”

 

“Hah hah hah,” John drawled sarcastically, grabbing a wad of old, crispy receipts that he then tried to shove down the back of Roger’s shirt.

 

 The desk chair Roger was sat on slid in to the filing cabinet with a hollow clang as they wrestled, Roger he dragging John down into this lap when he finally got a hold of his hands. “You know I don’t mean that,” Roger said when he got John to drop his means of revenge. “I don’t not...I...You mean more to me than I thought was something that could happen. With me. And even before we slept together you were special. My best friend! You’re my best friend and I...You were always more than a nice arse.”

 

“Thank you for noticing,” John grumbled, but stroked the back of his hand over Roger’s cheek all the same. “You’re my best friend too. I fancied you for more than how you look, you know. It’s your humour and how talented you are and you’re so, you know, carefree. Your ease with people always…I really like that about you,” he gave Roger a small smile, cupping his jaw when he ducked his head to kiss him gently.

 

 They shared soft, sweet kisses that trailed off when Roger suddenly found himself overwhelmed. His shuddering breath startled John, he could tell, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he just stroked his long, careful fingers through Rogers hair when he buried his face in John’s shoulder, wishing desperately that he knew what words could ever hope to describe this all encompassing, riotous, fragile thing John had planted in his chest.

 

 Roger wormed his hand under John’s t-shirt to feel the soft skin at his lower back, trying to ground himself, and felt something in John shift. He took a sudden, deep breath and Roger knew that John was going to say it. He was finally going to put this feeling, that ran so deep and fast flowing between them, in to three words that would never be adequate enough.

 

 The thought of hearing "I love you" and not being able to get it out in return made Roger tense all over. His heart beating so fast and insistent that he swore John must be able to feel it. He looked up at John, trying to keep his face open and neutral, but John knew him too well. He didn't say it, just let the deep breath go with a sigh as he gave Roger a crooked grin, eyes neither sad nor tired nor hurt. Or much of anything really.

 

 Roger curled his arm tighter around John, whispering out something that sounded like _sorry_ because that was exactly what it was. John just shook his head, going back to stroking Roger’s hair as he looked around their office. “We’re not being presumptuous, are we? People could hate us next year.”

 

“People hate us now.”

 

“Yeah but...bands are such a fragile balance of egos. You know most band’s don’t fail they...”

 

“Split up. Yes. I know,” Roger patted John’s stomach. “We’ll be okay though.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeeah. Ego is what go us here isn’t it?” he dropped a kiss to John’s neck. “Too stubborn to fail,” he said with utter surety, looking John in the eyes so he knew Roger wasn’t just talking about the band.

 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” John smiled, slipping his arm around Roger’s shoulders as he picked the magazine up again. “You know, we should frame this and put it up behind the desk.”

 

 Roger tipped his head back with a groan, thought about it for a second, and then righted himself. “Okay.”

 

 

* ***** * 

 

 Roger dug his fingers into John's thigh, feeling the curve of the surprisingly firm muscle as he dragged his hand up over his hip. He let his hand rest casually on his waist before smoothing it back down his side, making sure the heel of his hand brushed against the swell of John’s arse.

 

“Stop it,” John muttered, bumping Roger’s hand away with a swing of his hip.

 

“Sorry.”

 

 John half turned towards him, pressing the rim of his glass against his bottom lip. “I’m not,” he said, holding Roger’s gaze as he took a long sip of his drink. He was practically poured into his shirt and pinstripe waistcoat, flares cupping his pert little bum so well you could almost feel how toned it was just by looking at him. And Roger had been looking, a _lot_.

 

“Yeah?” Roger asked, stepping closer to John who looked like something out of a dream in this half light.

 

“Give it another hour or so and then no-one will notice we’re gone.”

 

 Roger glanced around the room that was packed with the great and the not so good of the music industry; the people they needed to suck up to and the people trying to suck up to them. It was a typical album launch party, full of the usual bullshit that came with the industry, but, as it was a Queen launch party, enough wine was circulating to make half these people bearable.

 

“I’ll do another circuit. Try not to miss me,” Roger winked, giving John a tap on the bum as he headed off towards the champagne.

 

 He teamed up with Freddie to wind through the press of people being as funny or risque as their reputations demanded, making it look like they were having a whale of a time while they worked the room. The whole reason they were here was to make a good impression after all, which was why Roger made his excuses while Freddie charmed a few journalists so he could jump in and save some poor woman from Brian’s incessant talking.

 

“What? I was just telling her about the reverb intake on…”

 

“No-one gives a shit about your fireplace, May.”

 

“They do!”

 

“She didn’t.”

 

 Brian pulled a face and swiped a glass from a passing waitress. “Yeah, she probably didn’t.”

 

 Roger gave him a supportive pat on the arm. “Never mind mate, you’re married now it doesn’t matter.”

 

 Brian muttered darkly under his breath, looking very displeased by the whole situation as he downed his drink.

 

 Roger was saved from having to give him a “its a launch party, mate, switch on” talk by someone he vaguely knew sidling up to ask something about the new album. Brian brightened immediately, totally in his element as he chattered on about its musicality in comparison with _ANATO._  It was fascinating stuff if you hadn't been there recording both of the albums, so Roger hung around just long enough to look polite before slipping away to chase down on one of the tray's of canapes.

 

 He managed to corner a waitress just as she was coming out of the kitchen, the poor thing trying not to look appalled as Roger plundered her vol-au-vents. It was as he was shoving two in his mouth at once that he heard John's dry, bubbling laughter, the waitress taking her chance to escape back into the kitchen when Roger looked around to try and spot him.

 

 He was at the bar chatting with Miami and one of the EMI executives - John's slouching, cocked hip posture at odds with how involved he was in the conversation. Roger watched him listen intently to what was being said, speaking firmly and eloquently in reply and then laughing at his own joke as Miami shook his head fondly.

 

 John had a long way from that boy who could hardly bring himself to speak during rehearsals. He had always worn his intelligence lightly, his sweet charm often hidden by his natural shyness, and yet here he was, in a room full of people he didn't know (his personal hell) talking to someone with so much power in their industry with confidence and charm.

 

 Roger was proud of him. So Proud. Proud of how much he had grown as a person and musician. Proud of what he did for the band and the impression that he made on others. Proud that he was _Roger’s_ even though he dare not tell half the people in this room that.

 

 John’s gaze flicked over to him once, and then - probably because he was begin gawked at - slipped back to Roger with an added quirk of an eyebrow. Roger realised he had been stuck mid chew for longer than was pleasant and quickly swallowed his mushy mouthful, shooting John what was probably a dumb smile. One tugged at John’s mouth as he gave Roger a fond, if slightly confused, look before his attention was drawn away by the executive’s wife saying something to him.

 

“If this was an American cartoon, you’d have massive heart’s in your eyes,” Freddie said not unkindly, a soft look on his face when Roger glanced at him over his shoulder.

 

“I know,” he sighed, shoving another vol-au-vents in his mouth and washing it down with a gulp of warming champagne.

 

 Freddie pulled at face at him which may have been because Roger was drunkenly hoarded Coronation Chicken canapes. Or, more likely, because of the loud, wet sound he made when he swallowed.  

 

“Delightful.”

 

“I know, I know. I’m a catch.”

 

“John’s lucky to have you.” Freddie said with a direct sincerity which didn’t match his expression.

 

“Oh...”

 

“You have a big heart, dear, but it’s hard to make an impression. When people do they’re yours for life, and I’ve never seen you look at anyone like you were just looking at him. _Not even me!_ ”

 

 Roger felt his face heat and took refuge in downing the rest of his champagne. “Not so loud, Fred! You’ll ruin my reputation!”

 

 Brian snorted as he smacked Roger heavily on the back. “Never mind mate,” he parroted back to him. “You’ve shacked up with Deaky now, it doesn’t matter.”

 

 

* ***** *  

 

 Roger wrinkled his nose, letting out a noise of disgust as the wind blew the heavy rain against the window.

 

“Are we sure we wanna go out in this?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“We’ll be fucking swimming to the cinema.”

 

“It's all part of the fun.”

 

“What if we catch something horrible and...an’ _Austen Heroine-esque_?”

 

“Then we’ll find a nice rich man to nurse us back to health.”

 

“We _are_ nice rich men,” Roger pointed out as he started fiddling with the buttons on his coat.

 

“Well...then we’ll be the one’s doing the saving, I suppose.”

 

 Roger glanced over at John and couldn’t hold in a laugh. “Oh _Deaky_.”

 

 John looked down at his blue and white Polkadot raincoat and shrugged. “Jealous you bought a boring men’s one?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“We’ll just have to find you a neon umbrella to make up for it, then.”

 

“Do you think they sell those?”

 

“Hmm...spray paint?”

 

“That’s one of the most stupid ideas you’ve ever had, and we should definitely pick up everything we need on the way back from the cinema.”

 

 

 The rained had eased off by the time they finally bustled out of the front door, the faint October sun making a valiant attempt to peek through the low hanging cloud. It was fresh and bright out, the air just on the pleasant side of autumnal, and Roger decided that he was feeling playful enough to hop on ahead of John to splash through the puddles gathered in the camber of the road and on the uneven parts of the pavement.

 

“Your socks will get wet,” John called, shortening his long stride to carefully avoiding the puddles that were still rippling in Roger’s wake.

 

“No they're not,” Roger lied. “Come on! I’m...what?”

 

 John’s eyes had widened when he caught up to Roger. He started to search his pockets a little frantically, stepping under the Plane tree that stood just before the corner of their street to let mum and her kids pass them.

 

“What have you forgotten?” Roger asked, shuffling over to John when he got no reply. “What have you lost?”

 

“It’s the…” John started, and then jumped up to grab one of the tree branches, shaking it vigorously enough to soak Roger.

 

 Roger did nothing at first except flinch at the sudden cold downpour, furious at himself for having fallen for it. Then a heavy, ice cold raindrop rolled through his hair to trickle right down the back of his neck. “You little bugger!” he yelled, trying to grab John but he jumped out of reach.

 

“Woops!” He sung, full on laughing when Roger finally grabbed him and wiped his wet sleeve over his face.

 

“ _I’ll woops you_! Just you wait!” Roger couldn’t keep his laughter out of his voice, digging his fingers into John’s side to make him squirm and squeal. “Can’t believe you did that!”

 

 John eyes were bright with mischief when he turned to Roger, jolting when he jabbed him in the side again. “My sister always used to do that to me,” he grinned a little breathlessly.

 

 Roger opened his mouth to tell him what he thought of that when an excited _yip_ came from by their feet. He let John go, nodding an ' _Afternoon'_ to the well dressed lady who was walking the dog that was currently trying to sniff John.

 

 She looked them over, no doubt just seeing a couple of young reprobates on her plush Kensington street. Still, she gave them a polite, “Yes, now it’s stopped raining”, in reply, tugging the dog away as she carried on down the street.

 

 They both turned to hurry on their way, John barely getting around the corner before bursting out laughing.

 

“Bridge Club are going to hear all about that.” Roger grinned. “ _One of them was a nice young man, the other an irredeemable bastard!”_

 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” John giggled. “Not the first one to fall for a bad boy.”

 

Roger looked at John in his polka dot raincoat, windswept and grinning at his own joke, and almost kissed him.

 

 

* ***** * 

 

 “Deeeeaaakkkkyyyyyyyy,” Roger’s yell echoed around the bottom floor of the house. He listened to it fade to nothing, taking a drag on his cigarette when no reply came. “DEAKY!”

 

 There was movement upstairs, and Roger closed his eyes as he listened to John’s familiar light footfall on the stairs.

 

“Were you filling the silence, or did you want me?”

 

 It was quiet. Wonderfully so, Roger thought. Especially after the chaos of Christmas.

 

 Roger’s mum had always been a very laid back, progressive lady. Especially for Turo in the sixties. And, after the initial day and a half of shock that had followed Roger telling her about John, she had been nothing but supportive of them. She always asked to speak to John when Roger called her, had pestered Roger for a whole month about what to get him for his birthday, and then had started to ask when she was going to “meet him properly”. Whatever that meant.

 

 This year was their first Christmas as a couple, and they had wanted to spend it together. Not that it really mattered much to Roger; Christmas was just an expensive, overindulgent week as far as he was concerned, but this felt important for some reason. Felt like it gave what John and him were building together some validity and normality. 

 

 So, in what had seemed like a good idea at the time, they had decided to kill two birds with one stone and just have Christmas at their house. Hoping it would allow their families to get to know one another better, whilst maybe settle a few fears about what sort of furtive, sordid lives they they might be living together by showing just how happy and domestic they were.

 

 They had been nervous about it, of course. John’s mum had known that he preferred blokes for a while, and Roger’s was making a good go of coming to terms with it. But there was a big difference between _knowing_ your son was with a man, and actually _seeing_ it. 

 

 Thankfully everyone had taken it all in her stride. In fact, Roger wished they’d all been less blasé about the whole thing. All their plans for the holiday had gone out of the window as soon as his mum met Molly Deacon, and then both of their little sisters had teamed up to tease them mercilessly.

 

_Mercilessly._

 

 They had survived it though. Even the awkward moment when Roger had showed off their lovely south facing bedroom and could tell everyone was trying not to acknowledge that was where they both slept. They played stupid party games, ate too much, drank too much, and dutifully listened to the Queen's speech (both Her Majesty and Freddie, who had escaped his own family to say hello to Roger's mum and deliver Parsi sweets to John).

 

 The couples test of hosting a big holiday had, even if Roger said so himself, been passed with flying colours. John had been proclaimed a “nice boy” and Roger a “sweetheart”, and he was looking forward to never having to do that again.

 

 Even if he did miss the constant noise and hum activity going on somewhere in the big house.

 

“Did you yell for me and then fall asleep?”

 

 John was leaning over the back of the couch when Roger opened his eyes. He had his long hair tucked back behind his ears, the slow blinking lights catching on his cheekbones as they lit up his face with the washed out, gaudy colours of Christmas.

 

 Roger shifted so he could get a better look at him, smiling up at John around the cigarette in his mouth. “I was laying here dreaming of you.”

 

 He had been laying that on a little thick now their parents weren't around, but John didn’t seem to mind. He plucked the cigarette from Roger’s lips, reaching over to tap the ash off into the mug Roger was using as an ashtray. “Flirt.”

 

“I should hope so, you foxy boy,” Roger said with an exaggerated wink.

 

 John considered the cigarette a moment, taking a tentative drag and pulling a face at the taste of Marlboro Red. “You…” he started as he exhaled, an idea seeming to come to him as his gaze shifted down to Roger.

 

 He took another drag, nose crinkling, and then tipped forward over the back of the couch to kiss Roger.

 

 This had been a favourite move of his down in Cornwall, so Roger knew to open his mouth as soon as their lips touched. He tangling his fingers into John’s hair as the smoke slipped into his mouth, holding him close so Roger could sweep his tongue lazily into John’s mouth.

 

“I never mind the taste when it’s in your mouth,” John said quietly when they pulled apart, not attempting to stand up even though his face was starting to turn red with how he was bent in half.

 

 Roger, after carefully exhaling away from John’s face, eased his hand out of John’s hair to stroke over his shoulder. “I don’t mind how you taste, either,” he drawled, watching John’s pale eyes widen as he choked on a laugh. Catching John off guard, Roger wrapped one arm around his ribs and the other around his hips so he could carefully, so as not to tip the couch or dump nine-and-a-bit stone of skinny bassist onto his ribs, haul him over the back of the sofa.

 

 It went more smoothly than Roger expected it would. John even managed to make it look like it had been a good idea when he braced his hands on the armrest to hold himself up over Roger rather than just land on him.

 

“Was that really necessary?” John asked as he reached over Roger’s head to stub out the cigarette

 

“Definitely.” Roger shifted to get more comfortable, opening his legs to let John kneel between them. “Because I, the only person in this band with any body fat,” he proclaimed as he patted his little, Christmas indulgence filled, tummy, “am a perfect pillow right now.”

 

 John smiled, skimming his fingers down Roger’s bare chest. “I suppose that sells it.”

 

“What other reason could you possibly want to cuddle with a beautiful, talented, smart, _beautiful_ …” Roger trailed off when John ducked his head to press kisses to Roger’s tummy, about to gasp at the feeling when John shook his head to tickle him with the ends of his hair. “No! Fuck you!”

 

 John was laughing as he flipped his hair over his shoulder and out of the way. “I’m appreciating the body of the finest drummer in rock and roll.”

 

“Should think so too,” Roger declared without a hint of modesty, smiling when John just shook his head and settled down on top of him.

 

 John rested his chin on the hands he crossed over Roger's chest and they just looked at one another for a time. Roger saw contentment on John's youthful face, a sparkle of something in his eyes that made Roger's whole body tingle when he realised it was love.

 

 His face must've shown that he'd noticed it because John just managed to stop himself rolling his eyes. He let his hands drop so he could rest his cheek on Roger’s chest, heaving a great sigh as he made himself comfortable.

 

 Roger looked down at the top of John's head, and then followed his gaze to the slightly lopsided Christmas tree that they had debated long and hard over before buying. He idly stroked John’s hair, making it lay neatly over his chest and John’s shoulders, before raking his fingers through it to mess it all up again.

 

“I love you,” Roger said quietly, almost casually. Even though he felt anything but casual at saying something so important that meant to little. It couldn’t compare to everything about John that he treasured, everything about him that drove him mad, and everything about him he did not know about yet but loved all the same. 

 

 _I love you_ could never describe how Roger felt when John nagged him about taking care of his hands, or laughed at his own stupid jokes, or drove too fast on windy country roads just to make Roger whoop with exhilaration, but it was the truth.

 

“I know,” John murmured, dropping a kiss onto Roger’s skin. “Love you too. But you already know that.”

 

“I do,” Roger sighed, a little smile on his face that he knew was silly but he didn’t give a shit. He lay his hand between John’s shoulder blades, just feeling him breathe. “I'm happy like this.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“And with you...I’m really happy with you.”

 

 John squeezed Roger’s hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss Roger’s knuckles before setting their joined hands back down on the cushions.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the fic:
> 
> The 1976 heatwave was so hot (for Britain, we chilly bitches) it melted the tires on my mum's car, and she's never forgiven it.
> 
> Before the launch of Day at the Races, Queen played a few summer gigs around Britain that ended in the massive free show in Hyde Park in London (Imaging getting to see Queen for free wow the boomers really got it all huh)
> 
> and [Here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/32ff43b114b04a658d4de70e768c166d/tumblr_pm1l7xv3pv1t76f4u_500.jpg) is the BEST and most fucking EPIC magazine cover in music history.


End file.
